He spent most of the day in exploring the historic buildings of the old town, then as five o’clock approached he entered the Princess Street Gardens, and strolling towards Scott’s Monument, took his stand in an inconspicuous place and looked around him.
Almost immediately he saw Philpot. The doctor was muffled in a heavy coat, a thick scarf high about his ears, and fur-lined gloves—a get-up, French shrewdly suspected, intended more as a disguise from Roper than a protection from the cold. He was approaching from the Waverley Station direction, walking slowly, as if conscious that he was early. French moved to meet him.
“Well, doctor, this is very good of you. A surprising development, isn’t it?”
Philpot shook hands, and glancing round, said eagerly:
“Look here, I want to understand abo
